


The Raincheck

by wheel_pen



Series: Daisy [8]
Category: Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Naughtiness, Vampire Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-06
Updated: 2013-05-06
Packaged: 2017-12-10 14:12:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/786949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wheel_pen/pseuds/wheel_pen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daisy interrupts Damon while feeding. Instead of running away screaming, she invites him out to the dinner they missed earlier. “A girl shouldn’t really smile at that statement. Not at that tone or that look. No sane girl, anyway.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Raincheck

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. Daisy, my original character, moved to Mystic Falls about a year ago. There is something special about her.
> 
> 2\. This series begins with the first season of the TV show and completely diverges about halfway through the first season. Facts revealed later on the show might not make it into this series.
> 
> 3\. Underage warning: This series may contain human or human-like teenagers, in high school, in sexual situations.
> 
> 4\. The bad words are censored. That’s just how I do things.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this AU. I own nothing and appreciate being able to play in this universe.

            She tasted quite good, this nameless woman he’d seen around town, who’d taken her usual shortcut down an alley on the wrong night. He might learn her name later, when her picture was in the paper alongside a morbid article about her death or disappearance; or maybe he would stop feeding soon, let her live, and she would remain anonymous to him. He wasn’t too sure about that idea, though. The taste of blood overrode almost everything.

            “Damon!”

            _Not her_. That was the first thought through his head when he heard the sudden voice behind him, and it disturbed him. But of all the people who could have interrupted him—usually a fatal move—why did it have to be _her_?

            “Damon, please. Let her go. She’s a friend of mine.” Daisy sounded urgent, but far calmer than she had any right to be.

            He turned slowly, letting the woman slump against a stack of boxes. He gave Daisy a full view of his reddened eyes, protruding veins, pointed fangs, and the blood coating his face. Her expression, disappointingly, didn’t change.

            “But I’m _hungry_ ,” he growled, trying to sound as sinister as possible. Normally this wasn’t difficult.

            Daisy did not have sense enough to be scared, apparently. “Please let her go. She’s my friend—we work together at the pie shop. People will notice if she goes missing.”

            It wasn’t that Damon saw sense in her words. But he’d drunk enough to take the edge off, and now his most intense emotion was curiosity. He held her gaze as he lifted his own wrist to his lips and bit down; then he turned away, grabbing his snack and forcing some of his blood into her mouth. She began to perk up almost immediately.

            “You fell in the alley and hurt yourself,” he told her, staring deeply into her eyes. “But it’s not serious, and you’re going to go home now. Then you’ll feel better.”

            “I’ll feel better,” she intoned mechanically.

            Damon took his hands off her and she turned without seeing him, heading for her car. She walked stiffly, as though she’d just picked herself up from a fall, and muttered under her breath as she checked the wound on her neck.

            Daisy was still watching her leave when Damon whooshed forward and flattened her against the opposite wall. He sniffed the warmth of her skin, inhaling the vague scent of—literally—sugar and spice from the pie shop, and underneath the tang of blood flowing in her veins. “And _what_ ,” he hissed menacingly, speculatively, “are we going to do with _you_?”

            Daisy’s gaze flickered over his face, not shying away from the vampiric transformation. “Well… we still haven’t had that dinner we talked about on Halloween.”

            Damon blinked at her. She was slightly breathless and he could hear her heart beating faster than normal; but it was nothing like an _appropriate_ response. “Are you on medication?” he demanded. That would explain a lot about her, actually.

            “That’s a very personal question,” she replied slyly, and by G-d, she was _teasing_ him. In a murky alley, with her friend’s blood on his face and his fangs just inches from her dark, creamy, delicate skin.

            He thought about biting her, he really did. But that was kind of a conversation-ender, and he wasn’t ready for that yet.

            Slowly he let his features return to normal—and she smiled. “What?” he wanted to know.

            “That’s very interesting,” was all she said.

            “There’s something wrong with you,” he judged, finally pushing away. It took some effort.

            “There’s this little Italian place on First Street that I like,” she responded instead. “If you’re free tonight.” He stared at her, completely unable to make sense of her reaction. “You might want to clean up a little first,” she hinted.

            “S—t,” Damon commented, wiping his face with his sleeve. It was more a judgment on the whole situation than on the ruined clothes.

            “It seems like a rather messy process,” Daisy noted with interest.

            “That’s why I wear black,” he snapped. The blood was beginning to dry on his skin, making it sticky and hard to remove. “You surprised me. Normally I have a little more… finesse.” And how was it that, after all this, he was feeling slightly _embarrassed_ by his sloppiness? That just wasn’t right.

            “I’ve got some water,” Daisy told him, rooting around in her massive bag. She produced a plastic bottle. “I’ve drunk out of it, though,” she warned.

            “Yeah, I’m a real germophobe,” Damon said sarcastically, snatching the bottle from her. He poured some water on the bottom of his shirt and used it to clean his face and neck. And was she _checking out his abs_ while he did so? Even with Damon’s overinflated opinion of himself, he didn’t think he could make _that_ up. He chucked the bottle aside when he was done and stared at her again, hands on his hips.

            “Vampire _and_ litterbug,” she smirked. “Dangerous combination.”

            He pinned her against the wall again, one leg pressed between the warmth of hers, and was pleased to see the smirk disappear. “I _am_ dangerous,” he purred low in her ear. Apparently recent events hadn’t made this clear.

            “I can see that,” she acknowledged, though again her body’s response didn’t exactly agree with that. He would have described it more as… turned on. She cleared her throat before speaking. “But you let my co-worker go. I appreciate that. Why did you pick her?”

            Damon narrowed his eyes at her, as though that would help him focus in on whatever synapses she was missing that would explain her behavior. Her dark eyes stared right back, somehow both frank and mysterious at the same time. “I was on my way to the pie shop,” he answered off-hand. She had a heartbeat, so she wasn’t a fellow vampire. Witch, perhaps? But she was so young to be so confident in her powers, to confront a vampire. “I need four pies for the Founders’ Council meeting on Thursday evening.”

            “Any particular kind?” Daisy questioned professionally. “Any food allergies?”

            “You are a severely messed-up human,” Damon judged. It was the best he could come up with given the evidence so far. “No nuts and no meringue.”

            “I can do that. Can you pick them up by 5pm?”

            He frowned at her, for so many reasons. He had met crazy people before, and she just didn’t give off that out-of-touch-with-reality vibe. Though clearly, she was. “Is that your stomach growling?” he decided to ask.

            “Sorry. I’m hungry,” Daisy replied, chuckling a little. “I worked through lunch making pies for the Mayor’s reception—“

            He didn’t really care. “Low blood sugar, maybe,” he muttered, not really believing that was the fundamental cause of her oddness. He grabbed her hand and pulled her towards the end of the alley.

            “Where are we going?”

            “Vellotti’s, on First Street,” he responded, as though it should be obvious. “Despite their unadventurous take on Italian cuisine.”

            It was only two blocks and he walked quickly, then compelled the hostess to seat them in an isolated booth at the dark end of the restaurant. There was a lit candle on the table, for ambiance, and he snuffed it out immediately. “Bring the bread right away,” he told the woman. “Our little monster is hungry.” He pinned Daisy with a look as he said this, but all she did was smirk fetchingly.

            “I guess you’re not going to get anything,” Daisy surmised, when he left his menu untouched.

            “Aren’t you?” he countered, seeing her own menu ignored as well.

            “I know what I want,” she replied, with that little smile that sent his mind into a tailspin of speculation. “Cheese lasagna,” she told the waitress who appeared with the bread. “Marinara sauce.”

            “Jack and Coke,” Damon ordered automatically. “You saw my ID, it’s fine.”

            “Your ID’s fine,” the woman repeated blankly, and left.

            “Very Jedi,” Daisy noted, making a puddle of olive oil and cheese on her bread plate.

            “George Lucas totally ripped us off.”

            “Is this where I make a joke about your light saber?” Daisy teased.

            “You were not surprised,” Damon decided, ignoring her comment. She’d known what he was long before she walked into that alley. “Well what gave me away?”

            “It’s hard to pinpoint exactly,” she answered thoughtfully. She stopped to chew her bread and the pause almost drove Damon insane. “Your ring, for one thing.”

            Carefully he did not look at his hand splayed on the table. “My ring?” The waitress returned with his drink and he sipped it nonchalantly, or so he hoped.

            “It’s not really your style,” Daisy elaborated. “Yet you wear it all the time.”

            “Sentimental value.”

            “I’m sure,” she replied knowingly. “It looks like lapis lazuli to me. That stone has a rather well-known protective property.”

            “’Rather well-known’?” Damon scoffed. They were both careful not to use any terms that might attract the attention of the vampire-sensitive authorities, even in an isolated booth at the back of a restaurant.

            “Well, to people who are interested in charmstones,” she qualified.

            “Are you a witch?” he questioned, despite his gut feeling otherwise.

            “Well, maybe if you asked my ex…” she joked.

            He leaned forward a bit and lowered his voice. “Does that mean you’re single?” He even surprised _himself_ with that one—with the poor timing, that is.

            Daisy smiled as though he were finally on the right wavelength, though. “I am. Currently. Though I’ve gotten a lot of hits on my eHarmony profile.”

            The corner of his mouth twitched, and he reminded himself sharply that he was here to get _answers_. “The ring? That’s it?” he probed, trying to stay focused.

            “Look, it really doesn’t bother me,” Daisy shrugged.

            “It really ought to,” Damon assured her dryly.

            Her lasagna appeared and she began to cut into it with gusto. “Well, I don’t want to sound uppity,” she began carefully, “but maybe I’m a little more open-minded than the people you’re used to. This is kind of a small town, but I moved here from Tampa last year…”

            Damon blinked at her, trying to figure out if that was supposed to be a joke. Well, it didn’t matter; it didn’t make sense either way. “Are you trying to blackmail me?” he guessed randomly.

            “That would be a rather foolish plan,” Daisy acknowledged.

            “Yes it would.”

            “Can I ask you something?” she went on conversationally. “What kind of music do you like?”

            Damon almost choked on his drink. “What?” he sputtered.

            “Do you like electronica?” she persisted. “There’s a rave tomorrow night in Charlestown—“

            Possible understanding, oddly coupled with disappointment, blossomed in Damon’s mind. “Oh, I get it. You’re a drug addict,” he deduced. “Your brain’s fried on Ecstasy.” She could probably witness him slaughtering a whole sorority and it wouldn’t sink in.

            However, Daisy responded with a look that was almost… insulted. “No,” she replied coolly. “Though I find the moral superiority in your tone deeply ironic.”

            The sudden chill from her side of the table almost made him feel like apologizing, which frightened him. “I like electronica,” he said instead, his tone still suspicious. “I like punk and metal better.” The waitress wandered back over and he glared at her. “I already took care of the check. Don’t bother us.” She scurried away quickly.

            Daisy seemed to interpret his answer to her music question as an attempt at rapprochement. “Thank you for dinner,” she told him, warming back up slightly.

            “You owe me,” he judged, “since you interrupted _mine_.”

            “And what, exactly, do I owe you?” she replied, slow and suggestive, as she leaned across the table towards him.

            Damon didn’t mind flirting. Not at all. But he preferred to know what the h—l was going on while he did it. “Is it possible your lust for me has overridden your common sense?” he wondered aloud.

            Daisy laughed at this, unexpectedly. Not a sarcastic laugh, as though this notion were too ridiculous to be believed; but a tension-breaking laugh, accompanied by a faint blush. “I think you may be right about that,” she admitted, sitting back in her seat. He was disappointed by the increase in distance. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” she told him. “Maybe we could just—meet up at one of the high school football games sometime. Not a date or anything, it’s just nice to have someone to sit with.”

            Damon tried to predict how this would play out and saw nothing but blanks—but he found the lack of clarity oddly thrilling. Crazy girl who wanted to be friends with the ultimate bad boy, _despite_ witnessing his homicidal tendencies firsthand? It was like one of those c----y black comedies he sometimes saw late at night when Stefan left the TV on IFC.

            Which could be fun to star in for a few days. “I wanna go to the rave,” he insisted, and her flashing smile in response was oddly rewarding. He pressed for more. “Let’s find one tonight. We’ll go to D.C. if we have to.”

            Disappointment suddenly clouded her expression. “Oh, I can’t tonight,” she sighed regretfully. “My grandma’s expecting me home soon. My mom will probably be out all night,” she added with an eye roll, “and Grandma doesn’t like to be alone in the house for that long. Plus I have church tomorrow morning.”

            Damon gawked, feeling slightly dizzy from all the curveballs this girl was throwing him. “What? You’re gonna pull that excuse _again_?” What little he’d seen of her family would not exactly endear them to the rational thinkers of the world; any normal girl would ditch them at every possible opportunity.

            She didn’t dignify his comment with a response. “But I can do the rave tomorrow night,” she promised. “Or we could just get coffee or…” She seemed to find his silence discouraging.

            “I’m going to ask Elena about you,” he finally said, in a tone that most would construe as threatening.

            He was unsurprised to find that Daisy wasn’t bothered by it. “I asked her about you,” she confessed with a little grin, “but she couldn’t tell me much.” Damon would’ve liked to have seen Elena’s face during _that_ conversation. “Do you like sports? Or do you just go to the football games because of your brother?”

            His brother. The thought doused Damon in cold water and he chided himself for his stupidity. Whatever Daisy was—mentally unstable vampire groupie, head of the witch class, who the h—l knew _what_ else—he couldn’t let her threaten Stefan. It would not take much for her to conclude that he was a vampire, too, especially if she knew about the rings. And Stefan had already shown he was too obsessed with Elena to do the sensible thing and leave town, despite the Founders’ Council and their vampire-hunting knowledge. Could Daisy be some kind of stealth agent of theirs? He resolved to check her pedigree immediately.

            “Damon?” Daisy prompted when he didn’t respond.

            He captured her gaze. “Tell me your secret,” he compelled. The vague command worked wonders at parties.

            “I love shrimp,” Daisy replied immediately.

            “ _What?_ ”

            “I know I’m supposed to be a vegetarian,” she went on sheepishly, “but it’s hard to resist a little fresh shrimp now and then. Back in Tampa—“

            Damon didn’t really care and broke the connection, more confused than ever before. He hadn’t thought that was possible. It was slightly exhilarating, but he couldn’t let himself get _too_ distracted by her—he had plans to pursue, after all, plans that had been a long time in the making. “Eight o’clock tomorrow?” he suggested instead. “I’ll pick you up.”

            “Do you know where I live?”

            “I will after I drive you home tonight.” A girl shouldn’t really smile at that statement. Not at that _tone_ or that _look_. No _sane_ girl, anyway. But obviously he was dealing with something much more interesting here, something that might prove useful, though he wasn’t yet sure how.

            And if instead she proved to be trouble—well, the advantage still went to him. Though he was less sure of that than he had been before.


End file.
